Here Goes
by CaptainOzone
Summary: A collection of drabbles and short oneshots, prompted or otherwise. Mostly angsty and family/friendship-focused…with a sprinkle of fluff, humor, and romance when I feel like it. Rated for potential language. #6) Lichtenburg Scar & reveal
1. This Time

Author's Note: Hello! :) I got sucked into PhannieMay, as many others have, and I figured now was as good as a time as any to start posting here. I haven't written much DP yet, but let me assure you I've been stalking fics for a loooong while. I've probably wanted to write for the phandom for just as long, so here I am. Enjoy this collection! It will be updated whenever inspiration hits…and whenever homework allows. ;)

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**Prompt: **PhannieMay2014 - Space

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings: **Sam, Danny, Tucker

**Ratings/Warnings: **K+; set before "Mystery Meat"

**Word Count: **915

**Summary:** She thought what each of them needed was space. She was wrong.

**Extra Note**: Inspired by ectoimp's beautiful headcanon. You can find it on ectoimp's tumblr (page two of "DP HeadCanons/Discussions"). *rolls eyes at FF for not allowing us to post links* Special thank you to ErinNovelist for looking this over for me!

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**This Time**

At first, she hadn't known what to do, what to say. She had seen the way his smile suddenly dropped; she had seen the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers clenched at his bed sheets, the way he looked at her and Tucker. She had noticed how afraid he was and how desperately he tried to hide the green glow filtering into his eyes.

Sam hadn't followed him when he mumbled an excuse, panic and shame painfully clear in his tone, and escaped to the bathroom.

She and Tucker could hardly look at each other. The power slip-ups were one thing, but this was another. They had sat in stunned silence until a jittery and subdued Danny returned, and to her shame, she'd smiled at him and acted as though nothing was wrong, though they all knew perfectly well what had happened in the bathroom. The utter relief on his face had almost been worth the guilt she felt clawing through her gut.

The next few times this occurred… _He needs space is all_, she had tried to tell herself. Tuck had silently agreed with her when they were alone. She had tried to tell herself that Danny, too, was giving _them _space, just so that they might get used to the idea that…

But if that was true, why had she lied awake the past few nights, unable to sleep? Unable to stop staring at the ceiling? Unable to prevent the dread and guilt from immobilizing her completely? Why was it that, whenever she had managed to close her eyes, all she saw were flashes of acidic green light? And all she heard were his screams?

Tucker had admitted that he hadn't been sleeping well either, and the pair lived like zombies at school without Danny there. The other students knew better than to tease them, and the teachers cut them some slack.

Even then, they hadn't realized.

This time, as she watched his face crumple and fear overcome his blue—now green—eyes, she realized how disgustingly selfish she had been.

_I did this to him__._ It was the first time she could face the truth for what it was. If she hadn't dared him into the Portal…

Space, was it? Was that really their excuse? It was never space they needed, and Sam wished she could black her own eye for neglecting to realize sooner.

Sam and Tucker thought they lost Danny that day. They very nearly did, and his…ghost form was a reminder of how, for one second, they thought he was dead—fully dead. It was this very same form that made Danny think he might lose them now. It was a reminder he…wasn't completely human anymore.

This needed to end. Fears needed to be faced. Danny was alive, and whatever else, he was no monster.

So this time, Sam followed him. Tucker was only a step behind her.

Jazz and his parents weren't home tonight—they thought Danny was well on his way to recovery from his "shock" and did not mind them staying to catch their son up on what he missed at school—so they were in no danger of being overheard.

Sam knocked on the door and called, "Danny?"

It appeared that in his haste, Danny neglected to fully close the door, so it popped open the moment her knuckles hit it. Without waiting for a response from him, she pushed through the door and strode in with Tucker at her side.

Danny was huddled on the floor, his forehead pressed against the toilet seat. Shudders wracked his frame, and upon hearing them enter, he shifted slightly and stared at them with frenzied, glowing eyes.

But they were his eyes. Sam would know them anywhere.

"G—guys," Danny rasped, curling into tighter ball as they came closer. He sounded as though he was hyperventilating. "Please…please…I—"

"It's okay," Sam interrupted soothingly. She ignored the stench of vomit and sat directly on the floor beside him. He flinched when she took his hand, but his teeth were chattering far too loudly for her to make out whatever protest he made.

Tucker, who perched himself on the edge of the tub, however, seemed to have been able to interpret what their friend said. "We're not going anywhere, dude."

"We're so sorry," Sam added. "Don't fight it, Danny. Please. You're making yourself sick."

A glowing tear slipped down his cheek, and he grit his teeth. "Sam, I…"

"No, listen to me," Sam said, gently turning him toward her and forcing him to look her in the eye. "We haven't been here for you these past few days, but we're here now, and Tucker's right: we're not going _anywhere_. We're in this _together_, Danny."

Her friend released a sharp sob, and she continued, "Stop fighting it. It will be okay, I promise. We'll still be here, and we're going to help you figure this out."

Sam Manson wasn't normally one for hugging, but a few days ago, she nearly lost her best friend. She needed this just as much as he did. Danny shuddered once more before relaxing fully into her embrace. That strange halo of light passed over his body, and though he was freezing cold, Sam didn't release him. Not for a single second.

By this point, Tucker had slipped onto the floor and joined them. His hands were firm on both Danny and Sam's shoulders. "We aren't going anywhere," he repeated. "And neither are you."


	2. Hero

**Prompt: **Write a drabble based upon the emotion "adoration" (a prompt given at "The Heart of Camelot")

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings:** Sam, Danny

**Rating/Warnings:** T for language; set before "Phantom Planet"

**Word Count: **395

**Summary:** Sam wishes Danny would see himself as the hero he truly is.

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**Hero**

Sam really hadn't meant to be up so late, but in the end, she was grateful. When Danny tumbled through her wall at two in the morning, she was able to yank the headphones from her ears and immediately jump over the back of her chair to get to his side.

"S'rry," he mumbled, pitching forward into her arms. She caught him awkwardly and got a full view of the bloody mess that was his back. Unable to restrain a gasp, Sam lowered him so that he lay on his stomach. "We jus'd talked 'bout knockin' 'n' I—"

"Shut up, Danny," Sam ordered. She blinked back tears and reached for the ever-present kit by her bedside. "Whether you knocked or not isn't important right now."

There was some more incomprehensible babble, but Sam would have none of it. "_Danny_," she warned. They obviously needed to have a talk about priorities when he was a little more functional. "Your _back_."

"S'okay, Sam." His eyelids fluttered, green eyes dim with fatigue.

"I'll be the judge of that," she muttered as she expertly began to clean his wounds. The tension drained from her shoulders when she discovered that the meshwork of scrapes looked far worse than it truly was. The torn skin was already starting to knit itself back together.

"Who was it?" she asked, anger flaring. She'd be sure to pack an extra punch the next time she saw whoever it was.

"Ber'rand." Sam's fingers froze momentarily. "Dragged me 'long a sidewalk. Jus'…ah, shit, 'm bleedin' ev'rywhere. 'm s'rry. Di—di'n't…mean to." Danny chuckled darkly. "S'me hero I 'm."

The self-disgust in his voice was evident. _Spectra_, she hissed internally. _That bitch._

No wonder he was so exhausted. Sam knew full well the effect that parasite's power had on even the strongest minds. "You saved a lot of people tonight," she whispered fiercely. "Every time she escapes from the Zone, every time you fight her, you prevent suicides, you prevent insanity and meaningless misery…Danny, you are a hero. Don't forget it."

A little snore was the only warning Sam had before her friend reverted back into human form, and despite herself, she smiled lightly. He was out, lips parted and sweaty bangs sticking to his forehead. Tenderly, she brushed them from his eyes.

It went unsaid that Sam thought of him as her hero, too.


	3. Care

**Prompt**: PhannieMay2014 - Favorite Episode ("My Brother's Keeper")

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings: **Jazz, Danny

**Ratings/Warnings: **K+

**Word Count: **326

**Summary: **It doesn't matter what Danny is. Jazz is his big sister, no matter what.

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**Care**

When Jazz walked into the kitchen and saw Danny playing sullenly with his peas, she wondered, not for the first time that evening, if perhaps she _had _been seeing things. It wouldn't be surprising. What she thought she saw was impossible, after all.

But as it happened, she was a Fenton, and since the Portal started working (and, oh, did she have her suspicions now about how _that _happened), the word "impossible" was swiftly being struck from her vocabulary.

She stared at him for a moment, frozen in place. He looked…normal. _Human_, she couldn't help but think, and she hated herself for it. Nothing appeared different about him—physically, at least—and for a moment, it was so easy to pretend.

He didn't look like a ghost, but…

Danny noticed her in the threshold and asked in a bored tone, "What?"

"Nothing," Jazz assured. Her feet took her to his side of their own accord, and she studied his face, marking each recognizable freckle and scar, before reaching out to pinch his arm.

She was half expecting her fingers to slip through his skin, but when she did indeed touch him, he jerked away at the unexpectedness of it and whined, "_What_?"

"_Nothing_."

His glare was nothing but suspicious, so she backtracked. She just had to let him know, in her own way, that…whatever was going on with him, whatever…_this_ was, she didn't care. Well, no, that was a lie. She did care. She cared so much, and she wanted nothing more than to remind him that he wasn't alone.

When he looked away, a spark of hope lit, and she thought he might just open up when a loud explosion shook the kitchen, destroying any chance she had.

Jazz had felt the tension in his shoulders when they overheard what Mom and Dad planned to do with their new invention, and unable to blame him, she had to let it go.

For the time being, at least.


	4. Ghost of King

**AN:** Because I forgot at the beginning of this collection: I don't own Danny Phantom nor do I own any pop culture, brand name, etc. references.

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**Prompt**: PhannieMay2014 - Ghost King

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings: **Lancer, Danny

**Ratings/Warnings: **K+; set Post-PP, junior year of high school

**Word Count: **994

**Summary: **Who knew ghosts would inspire such an interesting response to classical literature?

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**Ghost of King**

It wasn't a normal day if Lancer didn't get completely frustrated with this particular class. It always seemed that they participated the least. From the front of the classroom, he scanned their faces, sighing when he found most students' eyes on their desk. It wouldn't save them from being called on, but it still dismayed him. Only a few actually dared to meet his gaze, and a good fraction of those few were obviously caught in some very distant daydream.

He had wanted to hop right into a discussion with his students about these books, but since they already seemed to lack the motivation to so much as _appear _like they cared, he'd have to treat them like children. Huffing inwardly, Lancer pretended as though he had never posed his initial question and asked instead, "Who actually read their required reading over summer vacation?"

Samantha Manson was one of the first to raise her hand. He wasn't surprised to see that Daniel Fenton did not raise his hand, as it was currently being used to prop up his sagging head, but even so, Lancer couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment, which was all too quickly followed by pity.

He didn't blame him for not having read, and he made a mental note to talk to Mr. Fenton after class. For now, Lancer would allow him to doze. Just this once. It was only the first day back, after all, and he was hardly going to be to doing any significant lecturing today.

After seeing that most of the class _claimed_ to have read the play assigned, Lancer felt he had sufficient ammunition to successfully guilt-trip the class into a more enthusiastic response, and he had no qualms doing so.

It never failed to work like a charm, and a few minutes later, he nearly had the whole class offering opinions and interpretations.

"Yes, that is a good point, Nathan," Lancer praised. "How would you say that the ghost of King Ha—"

A _bang _resounded through the room as Mr. Fenton jerked, his knees crashing into the underside of his desk. His eyes flared green, and without thinking, he demanded loudly, _"What?!"_

Sniggers erupted from the back, and Danny, realizing he'd interrupted class, flushed bright red. He aimed an elbow toward Tucker's gut from underneath the desk, and Mr. Lancer cocked his eyebrow at his behavior. "Something you'd like to add, Daniel?"

"Um, no, I'm sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I…um, thought you said 'Ghost King' and…"

_Ah. _Even Mr. Baxter stopped snickering at Mr. Fenton's awkward words, and Lancer found he wasn't the only one who winced. Peace had not lasted long after the Disasteroid nearly hit. It hadn't been more than two weeks later that rioting broke out in the Ghost Zone, and terrifying rumors that the Ghost King had been released again kept Amity Park on its toes all throughout the end of summer. The Fentons had been run ragged lately, trying to find proof that the rumors were either unfounded or—God forbid—_true._

"In a way, I suppose you heard correctly, Daniel," Mr. Lancer admitted.

Ms. Manson muttered something to the boy, and Daniel's mouth popped open into a silent "oh" before he grumbled, "Ghost King. Ghost _of _the king. Close enough. They're not so different."

Lancer blinked. It sounded as though…Now intrigued, he asked, "What do you mean?"

Daniel shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the number of eyes on him. In a strange way, his modest discomfort amused Lancer, especially considering how much attention he began to attract after he'd revealed himself as Danny Phantom.

"They're both evil," Danny eventually said bluntly. "It's just…the ghost of the king pretty much screwed his son over, right? Hamlet was never ignorant—he kind of suspected something fishy was happening when his mother remarried his uncle so soon after his father's death—but it was the ghost's urging that really led him astray. It was his…influence, we'll say, over Hamlet that also ultimately led to the destruction of nearly every other main character in the play."

Blue eyes narrowed, and Lancer was suddenly aware that he was seeing the true Daniel Fenton for the first time. Without secrets holding him back anymore, Mr. Fenton could express himself to his full capacity.

"And for what? Revenge?" His tone was spiteful. "Sure, Claudius might have had it coming to him—King Hamlet didn't just become a ghost for no reason—but he cared nothing of the casualties, nothing of the consequences. The other characters were nothing to him. His country and his people were nothing to him. His _son _was nothing to him. Just a pawn. Most of the ghosts I fight might not sound much different, but even the worst of them—Spectra, Walker—there might be something holding them here, they might use people as pawns, they might not necessarily care about some of the things they destroy, but there is always _something_, you know? I've seen Ember playing with Youngblood. I've seen the Box Ghost giving the Lunch Lady ecto-lilies. I've allied myself with more ghosts over the past few weeks than I can even believe. They aren't so bad, really. There's…something that's…not necessarily _good_ all the time, but there's certainly something redeemable in each of them."

"But Pariah Dark…" The name fell dark and heavy from Daniel's lips, and a collective shudder possessed the class. "He'll trample everyone and everything. For no reason. Just because he can. Just because he doesn't _care_."

The whole classroom was silent as Daniel paused to take a breath. The passionate anger faded from his eyes when he caught the stares, and his hand crept to the back of his neck again. "So…yeah, I just got that vibe from the ghost king in _Hamlet _too."

It was Sam Manson who finally broke the silence. "Had a bit to get off your chest there, Danny?"

"A bit, yeah."


	5. Angel

**Prompt**: PhannieMay2014 - Transformation

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings: **Maddie

**Ratings/Warnings: **K+; Accident!AU

**Word Count: **403

**Summary: **Danny's transformation was more than physical. In fact, the Accident changed more than just Danny. It changed them all.

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**Angel**

To this day, I can't fully describe my first reaction to seeing my son as a ghost. My child, my baby boy…I cannot think to relive the pain that tore through me during the interminable moments that he stood, as though suspended by a puppeteer's string, with a single gloved hand gripping his head of white hair and glowing green eyes squeezed shut, before collapsing. The worst of it was…I saw—and heard—it happen, I could have prevented it from happening, and it was, ultimately, all our—our fault.

It was our fault.

We killed our son, and I think I was too stunned to even cry, too stunned to even consider what the hell happened. I can't remember if it occurred to me that we'd have to destroy his ghost, this pathetic and disgusting echo of the boy my son had been…but I have long since decided I didn't want to remember.

_What matters now, _Jack told me once, _is that we know the truth about them_. _He changed that, the moment he came out of the Portal._

And so he did. When he collapsed and, somehow, came back to life in a single sweep of light, he changed everything.

It hadn't been until after Sam and Tucker noticed us and began babbling their stories, their words overlapping and blurring together, that it occurred to me my son was unconscious. He had been a ghost, only to become human again, and Jack and I were doing nothing but standing there in horrified awe. Something shattered within, and only then did tears fall. "Danny," I remember whispering. "Oh my God."

Jack stumbled after me when I dashed to his body, checking, searching, for signs of life, with fingers that trembled so awfully I couldn't find his pulse. Panic bubbled up my throat like vomit, and I was in true danger of retching until Jack shouted, "He's breathing!"

I had never been very religious, but in that one moment, I believed just as much in angels as I did in ghosts…. because, undoubtedly, one had been watching over my little boy.

I never lost that belief. It is in this angel I place all my trust whenever he sneaks off to go hunting by himself, and whenever he comes home alive, if broken and beaten, I remember to thank his angel again…just as countless of Amity Park's citizens thank Danny for becoming theirs.


	6. A Single Domino

**Prompt**: PhannieMay2014 - Favorite Headcanon(Lichtenburg Scar and reveal)

**Category:** Gen (Canon)

**Characters/Pairings: **Maddie, Danny

**Ratings/Warnings: **K+

**Word Count: **1,278

**Summary: **Just as a single domino falls and automatically causes a chain of unavoidable events, it is funny how the smallest thing, the smallest nudge, can proliferate into such a huge moment.

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**A Single Domino**

All she did was accidentally bump into him. The lab was a mess, so of course Maddie sent Danny down to take care of it. Since there were certain experiments running that she didn't want disturbed, however, she joined him in the basement as he did his chores. Despite having expected her accident-prone son to clean up something that supposed to remain a mess, she needn't have been so concerned about him. Ironically, _she_ was the one who clumsily elbowed over a test-tube rack full of precious, recently-extracted ectoplasm.

She cried out in shock, a cuss slipping from her lips, and she jerked away from the spill, only to back right into Danny as he was passing. Whatever sassy klutz comment he was going to make was swallowed by a sharp hiss of pain.

"Danny!" Maddie exclaimed in alarm, spinning around. The spilled ectoplasm could wait. "Honey, what's wrong?"

His fingers twitched around the edges of the box he was holding, and his eyes shifted away from her. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong."

It was a lie. There was that tiny furrow between his eyebrows. She'd patched up enough of his scratches and scrapes to recognize it anywhere. He'd always had a high pain tolerance and could keep a straighter face than a champ poker player when he wanted to, but that furrow always gave him away, no matter how quickly he managed to hide it.

"Don't give me that, young man," Maddie said sternly. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Mom, really," he said earnestly. "It's nothing. I was just surprised that you backed into me." His smile was genuine, and after surveying him carefully, she had to admit that the hiss could very well have been reflexive, just as it would have been to say "ow" when receiving a unexpected smack from a friend.

"If you're sure, dear," she said hesitantly. Something about his responding grin put her on guard, and her instincts were right to demand that she keep a close eye on him. He damned himself the moment he shifted the box of spare parts he was holding and winced.

She saw it from the corner of her eye and pulled her hood and goggles down. "Alright, Daniel, that's it! I won't have you lying to me! Put that stuff down, and come here."

He didn't move and instead rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry. I got some bruising during the attack on the school yesterday and didn't want to worry you or Dad. It's _fine_, though."

Her anger fizzled to concern, but following far too swiftly in its wake was suspicion. _This wasn't the first time, was it? _"You wouldn't have hissed like that if it was _just_ bruising, Daniel," she said, narrowing her eyes. "What happened? Did you see the nurse? Why didn't you tell us?"

His hesitation was answer enough, and she ordered, "Come here, and let me see."

"Seriously, Mom, it's okay!"

"_Daniel James_."

Sighing in exasperation, Danny put his box on the table and walked to her. His gait looked no different than usual, which was a good sign, and he shifted up the hem of his shirt to reveal a yellowing purple bruise extending across his hip and…

"Danny! Does this go all the way up your side? To your ribs?"

She missed the startled look he gave her and leaned forward to pull his shirt higher. Before she could, however, he shoved it back down and danced out of reach. "Mom, it's fine," Danny protested. "It feels a lot better than it did yesterday."

"Daniel, you could have dislocated ribs! Does it hurt to breathe?" She didn't give him the time to answer. "Take your shirt off and let me see."

"No!"

Pausing, Maddie blinked and stared at her son, who coughed—there was another wince! Oh, was he going to be in _big _trouble if he was hiding a dislocated rib—and attempted again, "Trust me, Mom." There was something bordering _desperate_ in his voice. "It's fine."

"Now's not the time to be macho, Danny!"

"I'm not being _macho_. Why are you pushing this? I'm fine!"

"Why are _you_ protesting so much?" she asked, throwing her hands up in the air. "I want to be sure you're alright!"

"And I am!"

"I'll be the judge of that." Before he could react, she took him by the arm and led him to a clean table. She gestured for him to take a seat and said, "Take off your shirt, Danny."

He hid his eyes and licked his lips, reluctance oozing from every pore. "I'm not taking it off," he muttered stubbornly.

"Good heavens," she sighed. "I am your _mother_. What is there to be embarrassed about?"

He mumbled something under his breath and peered up at her from underneath his bangs, his blue eyes wild. It unsettled her momentarily, a rush of déjà vu overtaking her shock at the emotion there. Her gaze flickered over him again, and she realized how tense he was, his body poised in anticipation for flight.

_He was afraid_, and that shocked her to the core. _He was afraid of her_.

_"__Please_, Mom," he pleaded. Her fingers loosened their hold. "Believe me, you don—" He swallowed harshly. "It isn't pretty, but I heal fast, and—"

Strengthening her resolve, she threatened, "Daniel James Fenton, if you don't show me your bruise _right now, _I'm forbidding you from going to that concert with Tucker and Sam."

"But—"

"No 'but's! No arguments! You are hurt, and I will wrench off that shirt myself if I have to!"

He sighed in defeat, but there was a strengthening resolve in his eyes. "You're not going to like what you see," he said quietly.

It nearly made her shudder. This was more than a warning about the injury. This was a warning about far more than that, but that wasn't about to stop her.

"_Now_, Danny."

The light died from his eyes, and he took a deep breath and pulled the shirt off, no longer attempting to hide his grimace when he extended his arms above his head.

Maddie's attention immediately went the bruise. The bruising did indeed go all the way up his side, right to his ribs. She was just about to smile reassuringly at Danny and begin testing his ribs for weakness when she finally _looked_.

The scars. They were _everywhere_, littered across his body. White, puckered, raw…lesions and cuts and knotted, wrinkled flesh…

But standing in stark contrast to even the colorful bruises and white scars was a branching mark, terrifyingly beautiful in its own way, that extended from his other hip and up across his chest, where it splayed like roots of a tree at his heart.

She recognized it. God did she recognize it. Just days ago, she and Jack had been marveling at the physical manifestation of his jumpsuit…they had managed to get an ectoplasm sample from him before he wiggled out of their grasp…

They'd unzipped his suit. They'd discovered how—how he died. He…he had even said…

That mark was too distinctive to forget.

Danny was gauging her reaction with pained, cautious eyes, and she recognized those too. It was horrifying, to realize she hadn't been able to recognize _her son _for a very, very long time.

"Oh my God," she breathed, covering her mouth. Her fingers were trembling.

"It's alright, Mom," Danny said, releasing a shaky breath. He smiled weakly as she began to fumble at his wrist for a pulse, and in her mind's eye, she remembered Phantom smiling, too, as he teased them about their obsessive interest in his wardrobe. "I heal fast."


End file.
